“I don’t know what it is about you, Don Cristóbal,” she said, “but sometimes I feel I can talk to you about things I’ve never told any other man.”
It was a compliment, but instead of being pleased, I experienced tremendous remorse in the face of my lies.
She lowered her voice. “Laurent tried to”—she sniffed—“change at the beginning of our marriage to no avail. In the end, we reached an agreement. We both had things we wanted, things we needed. He wanted a wife, he wanted to be part of an important family. I wanted a French husband to please my father. Of course, I would’ve never considered marrying Laurent if Martin hadn’t betrayed me.”
She wiped her tears with her handkerchief.
“I know Martin is a womanizer but I can’t deny that I’m partly at fault for what happened between us.”
“What happened?”
She looked at me for a moment, as if debating whether she should speak more. “I hope that what I’m about to share stays between us.” Her finger traced the glossy tile on the countertop.
“Of course.”
She took a deep breath. “When Martin came back from school, I was horrible to him. First, I ignored him. I wouldn’t even speak to him. But I’d just met Laurent and was enthralled by him. You can understand that, right? Look at Laurent, there are not many men as handsome as he is.”
I shifted uncomfortably on the hard seat.
“Martin felt rejected by me,” Angélica said, “even though there was so much chemistry between us that, at times, I couldn’t deny him anything. He has that kind of power over women.”
Didn’t I know that.
“As a worldly man, you must understand how important the first time is for a woman? Well, I was no exception. After my first time with Martin, I didn’t want anything to do with Laurent, but my engagement was too far along and I couldn’t simply break things off with my fiancé out of nowhere, especially when my father was so happy with the relationship. I asked Martin to give me time to end my engagement and he did—initially—but as more misunderstandings and humiliations took place, he took the ultimate revenge.” Her voice turned into a whisper. “He was intimate with my best friend.”
Silvia, just like I’d imagined.
“That was the last straw. I married Laurent one month later.”
“And now?”
“And now, Laurent and I have an understanding. He has his friends, and I have Martin. It’s a comfortable arrangement and I thought I was fine with it until Silvia came back.” She squeezed the handkerchief. “I can’t stand the sight of them together! After seeing them at the party, I haven’t been able to think of anything else but the two of them in bed, laughing at me.”
“Did he . . .” I couldn’t even word my question properly. “Did he express an interest in her again?”
“No, but I know him. He can’t resist any woman.” She tightened the belt of her burnt-orange silk robe. “That’s why I refuse to have kids; why you saw me at Soledad’s house the other day. She gives me some herbs to prevent pregnancy.”
My thoughts were still on her earlier comment.
“But if he’s not a faithful man,” I said, “then why are you still with him? Why do you continue to suffer when you made your choice a long time ago?”
“Because Martin is mine. I will never give him up.”
CHAPTER 39
I’d barely been able to sleep after my conversation with Angélica. My head had been spinning all night with thoughts of Martin. He was not only my sister’s lover; he was apparently the lover of every pair of legs in town. My initial reaction had been to believe her, to think the worst of him. But now, I wasn’t so sure that everything she said was true—not after what Martin and I had shared. Was I being obtuse to think that what happened between us had been special? Had he been using me all along?
Enough!
I couldn’t let my feelings for him distract me any longer. I had to focus. I needed to end this farce once and for all. And in order to do that, I must figure out who was behind Cristóbal’s murder.
I was almost certain that Elisa had paid Franco with the pocket watch to kill me. She must be in town—or had been recently. Now the only question was whether or not Mayra had something to do with her. She was the only one who’d had access to my traveling plans. Could it be possible that Mayra was, in fact, Elisa?
Maybe she didn’t care that Alberto was her brother, maybe she just wanted to take revenge on the family by ruining them.
My head would explode at any moment now. There was too much information to sift through. I couldn’t make sense of anything anymore.
I just wanted to flee this place and never come back.
Either that or confess who I was and wait until Elisa or whoever was behind Cristóbal’s murder would come forward.
“More coffee?” Julia asked, holding a metal pot with warm milk in one hand and a small glass container of coffee essence in the other. I was alone in the dining room attempting to have breakfast, but I hadn’t touched my fruit salad yet.
“Yes, please,” I said.
Julia poured milk and coffee into my cup.
“How is your cousin doing, Julia?” I asked.
“Mayra?” She shook her head. “That girl is incorrigible, but I think she’s fine with Don Martin.”
The sole mention of his name hurt.
“I never got a chance to thank you for what you did for her,” Julia said, setting the plates on the table for the rest of the family.
“Don’t thank me,” I said. “Thank Martin.” I grabbed a croissant from a wicker basket. “So how are you and Mayra related?”
“Our mothers were sisters,” she said. “I’m the one who got her the job at Mr. Aquilino’s after her mother passed away and she needed a place to live. If I’d known the kind of person she really was, I would’ve never recommended her.”
“Don’t be so hard on her,” I said. “She just fell in love.”
“I suppose. That’s what she says, anyway.”
I took a bite of bread, but nearly choked when I saw Martin entering the room.
“Buenos días,” he said.
“Don Martin, you’re here early,” Julia said. “Would you like some breakfast?”
He wouldn’t take his eyes off me. “Sure.”